Cindy Jones

by Margaret Pearce

  Long strands of green slime and dead leaves clung to her. She opened her mouth and shrieked again. The sounds of the chainsaws stopped and workmen came running.

  “Is she all right?” someone called.

  “Of course she is,” Cindy retorted. “She fell into the shallow end.”

  “You pushed me.” Prunella sobbed.

  The men turned away, and the chainsaws started up their noise again.

  “Mother was right,” Constance spat out. “You’re so immature. The sooner you get some discipline the better.” She steadied Prunella as she sloshed up the steps. “Don’t cry, you sook. You’re just wet and filthy.”

  Prunella kept on sobbing. Her pale slacks and white blouse were stained and muddy, dripping slime and leaves, and her hair dripped lank and straight over her face.

  “Come into the laundry and have a hot shower,” Cindy suggested, feeling ashamed of the impulse that had caused her to push Prunella so hard.

  Prunella followed her into the laundry, still sniffling. Cindy gave her a clean towel and a cake of soap and turned on the hot water.

  “Don’t you have any proper scented soap, and where’s the shampoo?” Prunella demanded through her hiccupping sobs.

  “Daddy doesn’t like perfumed soap, and we never use any commercial shampoos,” Cindy said.

  She found a clean pair of jeans and underclothes, but hesitated over a top. Her shirts and jumpers were too small for Prunella. She decided on an old jumper of her father’s.

  Apart from the jeans being too short, Prunella looked almost respectable after her shower, except her hair was now as straight as Cindy’s.

  “I’m really sorry,” Cindy apologized as she handed over a hairbrush, but Prunella ignored her.

  “The sooner Mother gets you under control the better,” Constance threatened, wrapping the dripping clothes in the towel.

  “You just wait, Cindy Jones,” Prunella added as she slammed the front gate behind them. “Mother will fix you for being so nasty.”

  “I couldn’t be as nasty as your mother,” Cindy yelled at their departing backs.

  Inside she felt scared and panicky. The Barry girls were sure to tell tales. Professor Jones was going to be upset when he heard their version of what had happened.

  The workmen packed up and left, taking the debris of the yard with them. The front yard looked strange and unfamiliar. The trees edging the drive had been lopped to gnarled pillars. Without its friendly covering of vines, the front porch looked cold, austere, and shabby.

  Cindy sighed, and went around to the back yard. She fed Hooper, Amanda, and the cats, left milk for the possums, cleaned out the guinea pig cages, and fed the guinea pigs. By the time she had finished, it was dark.

  She turned on all the lights in the downstairs area of the house. She ate a handful of sultanas, had a bowl of cereal, and washed everything down with a glass of sarsaparilla.

  Afterwards, she cleaned up the kitchen and sat at her desk in the dining room to do homework. Horace and Pearl, the two Siamese cats, curled up at her feet.

  After half an hour, she put her pen down. What had possessed her to push that silly Prunella into the pool? Now she had two enemies instead of just unpleasant acquaintances. Why did life have to be so complicated?

  She heard Jim’s soft whistle. Hooper gave his short happy bark. She glanced out the window. Hooper was already panting as he bounded at Jim’s heels. They vanished into the darkness.

  Cindy stroked Horace, who growled. He was in one of his moods and not at all friendly. She patted Pearl, but Pearl moved away. The house was very quiet. Usually Cindy liked the hours she spent alone in the cluttered dining room doing homework and waiting for her father, but tonight she felt lonely and friendless. She was scared at the thought of how upset her father was going to be when he heard about her pushing Prunella into the water.

  She looked out the window. A large expanse of night sky stared down at her. With the trees lopped so severely around the house, she could stare straight up. She hadn’t noticed the night sky for years.

  “Star light, star bright, grant me what I wish tonight,” she chanted out loud.

  Horace opened his eyes. Cindy felt silly. She hadn’t thought of that rhyme since she was very small and really believed wishes on stars were granted.

  “I feel like Cinders in the ashes,” she explained to Horace, who between his mad spells was very intelligent. “If I could have a wish, I would wish for a fairy godmother like Cinderella’s who could wave a magic wand and make everything all right.”

  Horace looked bored. Cindy gazed back out the window. A shooting star blazed across the night sky.

  “That’s supposed to mean wishes are heard and granted.” Cindy told Horace as she pressed her nose against the glass. “What a pity there’s no such thing as magic.”

  Even as she finished speaking, a loud rapping sounded. Horace leaped to his feet, his fur standing on end, his tail fluffed out like a bottlebrush.

  His eyes were round with horror. “Yeeoah,” he moaned, his ears flat to his head.

  Although Cindy was used to Horace’s mad spells, the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Horace looked as if he had sensed something scary approaching. The rapping had come straight after her silly wish, almost as though something had heard her.

  The rapping came again, louder and more insistent. Cindy walked towards the front door slowly. What if something nameless and dreadful waited for her on the front porch of Six Turkscap Drive?

  She shivered and forced her hand to turn the doorknob.

  Chapter Four

  Miss Hopkins, Cindy’s biology teacher, stout, ordinary, and practical, stood on the front step.

  “Miss Hopkins!” Cindy gasped.

  “What happened about your assignment, Cindy?” Miss Hopkins asked.

  The assignment! With the shock of her father’s announcement, she hadn’t got around to finishing it. Still, it was odd for Miss Hopkins to come asking for it.

  Horace wailed and flattened himself along the window ledge. His mad eyes were fixed on Miss Hopkins as though she had two heads and a tail.

  “He’s quite insane,” Cindy apologized.

  “A fine example of a blue point Siamese,” Miss Hopkins said.

  Her hand shot out and grasped Horace by the scruff of the neck. She lifted his chin, felt the breadth of his shoulders, and stroked his long straight back. Horace submitted in a cowed manner. When he was released, he fawned at Miss Hopkins’s square lace-up shoes, purring loudly.

  “He usually hates strangers,” Cindy said, shocked.

  “Siamese are all right if you understand them.” Miss Hopkins moved Pearl from the armchair and sat down. “Are you having trouble with that assignment, Cindy?”

  “It just slipped my mind,” Cindy confessed. “Can I get you a cup of tea and some chocolate fudge?”

  Miss Hopkins took off her glasses and pushed her hair back. Behind the glasses were expressive eyebrows that quirked up and warm, laughing dark eyes. “I would love a cup of tea and some chocolate fudge.”

  The cluttered dining room seemed pleasantly cozy again. The conversation went from Siamese cats to guinea pigs, and the problem of the turtles that wouldn’t live in the swimming pool.

  “They kept returning to the bathroom,” Cindy explained. “It got easier to leave them there than keep putting them back in the pool.”

  Hooper scratched at the side door to be let in. He sprawled on the floor panting. There was the sound of a car stopping. Miss Hopkins stood up.

  “That sounds like your father’s home, Cindy.” She put her glasses back on. She was once again a blank-faced, gray-haired teacher. “How is your cooking going?”

  “My cooking?” Cindy was puzzled. They had been talking about likes and dislikes in books.

  “You want to get some recipes off Gretta Carson,” Miss Hopkins said abruptly.

  The front door opened. There was the murmur of voices. Cindy’s stomach tightened. Her father had brough
t Mrs. Barry back with him.

  “Good evening, Professor Jones, Guinevere,” Miss Hopkins said, as Cindy’s father entered the room with Mrs. Barry beside him.

  “Good evening, Miss Hopkins,” the professor said with a smile.

  “Evening.” The triumphant sparkle dimmed from Mrs. Barry’s eyes. She looked almost nervous.

  “What’s all this about you pushing Prunella into the pool, Cindy?”

  The sisters had told on her! Her father must be really upset to tackle her in front of Miss Hopkins.

  “Sorry, Dad. I lost my temper.”

  “Poor Prunella came home in a dreadful state,” Mrs. Barry said. “We had to put her to bed with a sedative.”

  “What did you fight over?” Miss Hopkins asked in her dry manner.

  Cindy tried to remember. What had Prunella said that had made her so mad? Prunella and Constance were the sort of people who upset her by just being around.

  “She said her mother was allowed to chop down our trees and sort through our belongings.”

  “Natural for Cindy to resent change,” Miss Hopkins remarked. “Good night. I’ll let myself out.”

  She walked towards the front door. Horace followed her. As he passed Mrs. Barry, he lashed out with his claws. She let out a muffled curse and kicked at him.

  “Horace!” Miss Hopkins warned.

  Horace slunk after her. The front door closed. She and Horace were gone.

  “That dangerous animal,” Mrs. Barry stormed. “He should be put down!”

  “Quite.” The professor looked at Cindy. “Mrs. Barry is only trying to make us more comfortable, Cindy.”

  “We are comfortable.”

  Mrs. Barry arched her eyebrows. Her gaze spotlighted the couch littered with musical instruments, the tumbled piles of books all over the floor, and the jars of tadpoles on the dining table.

  “But a bit untidy,” her father pointed out. “Once everything is finished, I’m sure we’ll be happy with the results. We want the house cleaned up and painted for the wedding, don’t we?”

  “When?”

  “Only a few months away, Jacinda.” Mrs. Barry recovered her good humor and turned her attention to the professor. “What about showing me the lounge room, Godfrey? Did you manage to get your new fish settled in the bigger tank?”

  The professor’s face lit up. “Of course, Guinevere. I’d like you to see—”

  His voice cut off as the double doors swung shut behind them. Cindy sat at her desk and shuffled through her books and papers looking for her biology assignment.

  Mrs. Barry had brought home the dreadful reality of the wedding. Her father actually wanted the trees chopped down, the ivy stripped from the walls, and all his precious books and other belongings tidied up!

  Cindy propped the textbook open in front of her. After awhile the print stopped dancing and wavering and she could read it again. She started to write up her notes.

  Her father wasn’t married yet. Anything could happen before the wedding. A sudden thought struck Cindy. Her father was less concerned about her pushing Prunella into the pool than that she resented the changes happening.

  The anticipated row about her pushing Prunella into the pool had somehow defused. Of course no one could have a row in the presence of Miss Hopkins. She was so pedantic and controlled that no one would dare. Cindy grinned at the thought of Miss Hopkins in the guise of a fairy godmother, wand and all, but the fight had definitely been averted. She continued to work more cheerfully.

  Her pen slowed as she puzzled over the abrupt question about cooking. Was there a warning or a message in that odd question? Miss Hopkins was never illogical.

  She decided to talk to Gretta about cooking as soon as possible. What did she have to lose?

  Chapter Five

  Cindy handed her father his jacket and briefcase. This morning he wore a bright yellow tie with a pale pink patterned shirt. He hummed to himself as he picked up his car keys.

  “Don’t forget you’re having lunch with Dr. Zelna.”

  “I’ll remember.” He ruffled her hair and turned to leave. “See you tonight, Cindy.”

  Cindy looked at the time. Horace was still missing. She hadn’t seen him since he followed Miss Hopkins out of the house. She shrugged and gave Pearl her saucer of milk. It was odd, but not worrying. Horace often went missing for a day or so. He would return when he was hungry.

  Gretta’s car was parked at the surgery, so Cindy turned her bike into the driveway. Gretta, wearing a stained old shirt over her jeans, was taking the temperatures of her overnight patients. Cindy sighed at the dropped ears and tails of the unhappy animals. She picked up a pen and filled in their cards as Gretta read out the temperatures.

  “All normal this morning, thank goodness,” Gretta said as she put the last animal back into its cage. “I’ve got to check on a mare in foal as soon as my assistant arrives.”

  She scrubbed her hands clean, pulled off the dirty shirt, and shrugged into her white jacket. She pushed her untidy dark hair out of her eyes and reached for the appointment book and her notes.

  Cindy plunged into her request for recipes.

  “Recipes?” Gretta queried. “You make a wonderful pavlova and cheesecake, and none of my sponges are as fluffy as yours.”

  “I want to learn proper cooking. Like roast meat and vegetables, and casseroles and things.”

  “I don’t eat much of that sort of food,” Gretta admitted. “I’ve got recipes for cucumber and prawn gelatin, avocado soup, crabmeat puffs, oyster rissoles, spaghetti and lobster, Swiss fondue, onion casserole and stuffed chokos?”

  Cindy kept shaking her head. Gretta looked at her watch. “What about Irish stew, chops, onions, celery, and carrots? The most basic revolting meal you can put in front of anyone!”

  “Sounds great.” Cindy grabbed for the prescription pad and a pen. “Keep talking. I can buy the ingredients on the way home.”

  At school, Miss Hopkins detained Cindy after her class. “Your cat followed me home and refuses to leave. Would you drop by and collect him this afternoon?”

  Cindy nodded obediently. She had wanted to see Jennifer Morgan, but Horace was more important. However, after school at the shopping center, she spotted Jennifer in front of the local fitness center.

  “Hi, Jennifer.”

  Jennifer Morgan spun around at her name. Cindy waved and pushed her bike through the crowded street to reach her.

  “What luck seeing you!”

  “It’s Cindy Jones, isn’t it?”

  “I had to shop because I’m making an Irish stew for tea,” Cindy explained. “What are you doing here?”

  “I teach Brio beat classes.”

  “What’s a Brio beat?”

  “Come and have a look,” Jennifer invited, as she opened a door.

  Cindy wheeled her bike inside and down a long passage and propped it against the wall. She followed Jennifer into a large room with a polished floor, smelling of dust and disinfectant. A group of boys and girls waited around dressed in leotard or shorts.

  Jennifer vanished into a small cubicle and came out wearing a black leotard. She switched on a tape with a loud, catchy rhythm to it. The class formed into lines. Jennifer waited a few seconds and then nodded.

  They started dancing exercises to the catchy beat of the music and Jennifer’s yelled directions. Cindy felt conspicuous standing watching, but everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. When Jennifer signaled a break, everyone flopped down on the floor, laughing and talking. Jennifer reached for a towel and wiped the sweat from her face.

  “That looks fun!” Cindy burst out. “No wonder you have such a terrific figure.”

  “Like to try it?”

  “Love to.”

  “I teach Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Classes between four-thirty and seven o’clock.”

  “I’ll be along on Monday afternoon.” What luck bumping into Jennifer, Cindy gloated. She would never have caught her at the Plumstead’s place. “You must have
a late dinner those nights.”

  “No problems,” Jennifer explained cheerfully. “I grab something take-away.”

  “What about coming home tonight to my place and trying my Irish stew?”

  “Do you think the Professor would mind an extra person?”

  “Half the time he isn’t home for dinner.”

  “In that case,” Jennifer said with a smile. “I accept your kind invitation with pleasure. I get sick of take-aways.”

  “We live at Six Turkscap Drive,” Cindy said. “See you some time after seven.”

  She wheeled her bike back into the street and rode towards Miss Hopkins’s prim little flat, whistling to herself. Everything was turning out nicely.

  She would cook a nourishing Irish stew for her father and Jennifer. Her father would enjoy her cooking and Jennifer’s company, realize it was nice to eat home, and fall in love.

  Miss Hopkins answered her door carrying a large towel-wrapped bundle with a long dripping tail hanging out the bottom end.

  “Come in Cindy. Horace fell into my washing, which was soaking in the trough. I’m trying to dry him.”

  “He wouldn’t have fallen in, Miss Hopkins,” Cindy explained. “He just likes taking baths.”

  Miss Hopkins watched Cindy scrub Horace dry. He lay across her arms, heavy and content, purring loudly.

  “I’m cooking Irish stew for dinner tonight.”

  “Good.” Miss Hopkins was wearing her glasses, and the light caught them so the expression in her eyes was hidden.

  “And I invited Jennifer Morgan for tea.”

  “A very nice girl. I’m sure you will find her helpful.”

  The silence lengthened. Cindy wondered what Miss Hopkins meant by “helpful,” but she wasn’t game to ask. This afternoon Miss Hopkins had little to say. Cindy felt embarrassed when she remembered how she had chattered the night before and confided all sorts of things.

  Cindy swapped her shopping into her school bag, carried Horace outside, and dropped him into the basket on the handlebars. Miss Hopkins gave a brief nod goodbye and shut her door.